


Thanks (for the pie?)

by mothra_leo



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Addresses family conflict and feelings of anxiety about self-worth, Liminal Michael, Liminal Michael is ... maybe AU, Other, reader is gender-neutral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21598525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothra_leo/pseuds/mothra_leo
Summary: The reader has been dealing with a recurrent problem: the Shape that stares at them from the dark. How does he find them, when he's a wanted criminal? Why does he come, when it isn't Halloween, and he isn't killing them? Those are hard questions to answer, especially when the available information seems to conflict.On Thanksgiving night, they decide to take their vague theories and put them to the test. If Michael seems to occupy a liminal sort of position with respect to the world, they may as well leave a plate out for him on liminal days.Examines some personal concepts of self-worth (and how to not be toxic to yourself), family conflict, and general moodiness. May be overly depressing.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	Thanks (for the pie?)

You're not alone on Thanksgiving. The family lives in another state, though; and your familial obligations will be carried out at other times. Instead, you've had a big lunch with your roommates, watched a good bad movie, and gotten a decent amount of social interaction in. It's been good. You liked it. But now? Well, you're alone now. You plan on having another good meal, and working on personal projects. It's not sad. You like the quiet, and you don't want to be dragged into family events; it's exhausting to have to follow the hierarchy and put your sense of self aside. Even attending other people's big dinners is exhausting-although the ones you've had with your own age cohort are a lot more fun than multi-generational dinners. It's not like their families hold you to the usual standard, but when you're in a family setting, it's hard to forget that your entire existence is disobedient-to some people. You've never been good at doing what you're told. It seems impossible to be a person, a human with free will, and also to conform to what is expected of you. You can't simply be good, or be “one of them”, at all. Maybe that's why you've never told anyone about _him_.

He's out there. Sometimes, at Halloween, he blazes a path of blood, and sometimes- Sometimes, on other dates deemed somehow meaningful, he visits you. Does he stalk others, too? You don't know. You're not sure why you are haunted in this way, or what he will choose to do with you. What does Halloween mean to you, that the renowned boogeyman should come to you? What does the equinox matter, for that matter? What rules is Michael following, and why are you subject to them? But he does not punish you for failing to understand. He does not seem to think that you are disobeying. He merely appears-watching, waiting, sometimes from outside, other times from disturbingly close quarters-and, when his unknown purpose is accomplished, he goes his way. Whatever rules Michael obeys, he does not expect you to put yourself aside for them. Few people do, really; but they have no power over you. He does. He could kill you in a moment. And yet, somehow, unlike all the other humans who've had you in their power, he doesn't. So you haven't called the cops, or told anyone about his visits.

You can't really lie to yourself: you've been wondering if he will show up. Holidays seem important to Michael-at least, Halloween does-and the metaphysical implications of that are curious to you. Is it the value of the day as an anniversary? Is it because he wears his mask, and Halloween is simply the day when it's proper to do so? Or is there something more to the day than that? Ever since you realized that his other appearances-not all, but some-were on similarly interesting days (the equinox, midsummer's eve, even Valentine's Day of all things), you've begun to develop a theory. Michael can't be real. He only comes when time is different, in a metaphysical sense. He is liminal. It's not that he isn't real, rather. It's that there's something more to him than man. That's not a hard conclusion (how many times has he been shot, again? There are conflicting stories), but you think that the truth goes deeper-and stranger-than mere superhuman ability. The fact is that you're not sure Michael exists normally. You don't know when things changed-when he transformed from “the man they put in a cell, who stares at the wall” to “the Shape who haunts and hunts and bothers me when it's a holiday”-but he has. They haven't caught him since-when? Since the hospital massacre? Since he wrecked someone's publicity stunt in the Myers house? Since Laurie Strode burned her house down?

There are conflicting stories.

You're certain at this point that he isn't coming from some unknown hideout. They'd have caught him by now if that was the case. He can find you anywhere, at the strangely specific times he chooses, and he disappears as abruptly as he appears. Michael is more like a ghost-or a demon-than he is like a person, and sometimes that makes you very sad. Other times, it's a strange sort of relief. The police aren't likely to track you down, after all. There's never been a blood trail to lead them to you. There are no bodies for you to dispose of after the fact. It also means, despite a lack of actual consequences, that you can't turn Michael's unnerving visitations into anything _more_.

You regret this. You used to tell yourself that it was fine; that Michael Myers wasn't safe, or reasonable, and that he would never desire to communicate with you anyway, so it was good that you didn't want to know more. To do more. But time exposes many things, and you've had to come to terms with the regret.

You know he'll never speak to you; but every time he's there, you wish he'd stay a little longer. So this time, you've resorted to a stratagem. It's not much of one, but the only other alternative you have is to attempt using force (a terrible idea, really) or to try chatting him up (if possible, even worse of an idea). Instead, you're making dinner. It's Thanksgiving, after all. You're supposed to have an abundance. It's not much of a dinner by family standards, but you're genuinely excited. The pulled pork (you prefer that to turkey) is store-bought, and so is the cranberry jelly and the stuffing, but you've tried a bit and it's all delicious. The biscuits are your standard recipe, and they're fresh and just-browned and you'll be making little sandwiches in them for days. The egg-nog (because for whatever reason, that's not just a Christmas thing for you) is creamy and spiked and spiced. There's dessert; not pumpkin or apple pie, but a chocolate cream pie thing that you've cobbled together from a few of your favorite chocolate dessert recipes.

You've set the table for two.

You planned the timing for Michael's sake, too. He almost always appears after dark; if he will. The roommates are out now, and the house is locked; he will find his way in anyway-if he will. Or knock. Or break his way in; you know he's capable. But he does not appear. After long enough waiting, you decide that it's worth just digging in; otherwise the food will get cool. Besides, while this was an interesting experiment, you don't know exactly what you're dealing with. You don't know why Michael appears. To wish for him to appear-even at a suitably liminal time as a holiday-could be meaningless.

You turn around to open the fridge, and he is there. Your eye level is at his upper chest, and you snap your head up to look him in the mask. The action leaves you feeling especially vulnerable. How long has he been there, watching you? Does it amuse him to go unnoticed? You catch your breath.

“Hello,” you say.

Moment pass, and nothing happens. You can hear him breathe. You catch the faint glint of light inside his mask. He watches you, you think.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” You ask, and then you mentally kick yourself. It sounds so normal. So banal.

He cants his head slightly. You think he is surveying the table. He understands, surely. He steps sideways and past you, towards the table. You turn, only to see him lay his hand out over a knife-the largest one, the one you put by the pie-and pick it up.

You back against the fridge as he turns around to face you. There's no time. You don't know what good protesting will do, or what you would say if you tried. He comes up very close to you, and you wonder if you've insulted him. Most likely, however, you didn't do anything at all. You want to know why he's doing this; but you've never known why he does anything.

You wish he wanted to tell you more. To tell you anything. Rather than push at him, or try to evade him, you turn your head aside. Your artery is on that side of your neck, you realize. That's okay.

He's so close to you. It's a parody of intimacy; the knife is between you both. If he kills you now, then none of your desires, your curiosities, your theories matter. If he rejects you, treats you like all his other prey, well, there's little to stop him.

You should have known that you weren't special.

“I though it was a good idea,” you say quietly. You want to apologize; but that seems wrong. “I wanted to do something you liked.” Your hand twitches, and you realize that you're making a conscious effort not to respond to the threat in front of you. You feel motion, as he does something with his hands, but you don't look down. You don't see him switch the knife into his left hand. He raises his right to your face. You wince, for all your seeming resignation, as he grabs you.

Michael holds your face, but he does not apply pressure. He doesn't need to. You cannot see, and that is all he wanted. You hear the sound of damp latex against skin, and the rustling of hair, and you feel his breath at the same time that you realize that Michael has taken his mask off. The thought unleashes a whole new current of intrigue inside you, but your internal turmoil is matched almost immediately by the sensation of an exhale against your skin. You think Michael sniffs at you. Then you feel more breath-heat- He sinks his teeth in, deliberate and hard, and you yelp.

...More of a gasp, really.

You want him to do more; it feels good, you like it a lot; but you don't respond too much-he's still holding your face, and you think the knife's somewhere down where his other hand is (is he holding the mask in it, too?) but you don't want to take any more risks, and you love-

Oh. He's tonguing at the bite.

When he lifts his tongue from your skin, your breathing has gone from nervous and shallow to an uncertain sort of pant; your body's not relaxed, but it is absolutely interested in more of what it's getting. He back away from you, of course, and you get nothing further.

He lets go of your face, too, and you can see; but now, his mask is being settled back into place. Your knife has been placed back onto the table, too, and Michael turns and walks past the table- He picks up the chocolate pie. You're still a little stunned from what's just taken place; but you flicker in a brief internal conflict between, _yes! he did like something I did!_ , and _what-you absolute cockwaffle, come back and kiss me again_ -and nothing is likely to stop Michael's advance. He leaves, exiting out a door you were certain had been locked, and you are alone.

“Son of a...” You breathe out a few moments later.

Eventually, you do sit down to your Thanksgiving dinner, sans pie. It's delicious. The entire time, you keep thinking that you see something pale in the windows; and your neck throbs with remembered attention.

For a moment, you had thought he was going to kill you after all. You don't know how to handle what he did instead. Or, frankly, the way you let him get that close to you.

You were wrong, though, to think what you did, you tell yourself. That you weren't special. That isn't true-or rather, it's falsely framed. You are you, and there's nothing disappointing or worthless about that. Neither your insecurity or others' disapproval can change that.

Besides. Whatever just happened, it didn't end badly (and your lack of self-worth didn't negate it). Michael came to you. He did-whatever it was that he did. You can still feel his presence on your skin. You might be ordinary, unprepared even, but somehow, you've piqued his curiosity. He accepted something you offered. He has still, somehow, continued to make an exception of you. Your experiment has achieved, if not answers, at least the acquisition of further information.

Perhaps, you think, if you're lucky, Michael might pay another visit at Christmas. There are a lot of old traditions about how 'the veil is thin' then, too.

**Author's Note:**

> So this story serves multiple purposes. The family thing, the question of "is it overstepping to want to be meaningful", all that is there, and I hope it works out in the sense of "it's not wrong to want to be seen as valid" and "it's okay to push forward even when you're not sure if what you're doing is okay, or when other people tell you you shouldn't be making those choices for yourself". The reader character wrestles with and examines their own internal voice a lot, so I hope it reads that they're working on their worldview.  
> Is there a lot to unpack here? Yeah, probably also about relationships and letting people step on you and what it means to be open and vulnerable to others. An author word: Never let people ask you to compromise yourself. Scenarios are one thing. Reality is another.
> 
> Liminal Michael is an AU concept I've been noodling with (it leans less reality-versimilitude and more "what if Thorn but not sucky"). It's not that holidays inherently attract him or anything-- but there's an unshot Halloween script out there where he's basically a Halloween tulpa, and I sort of went sideways and said, "but what if he's so ….Shape-ish that he's not wholly real, or he's become a supernatural sort of real, and he really only shows up when things are supernaturally liminal/unusual/out of the usual run of things"? Which would put him firmly active at Halloween, but possibly also (if he chose) at Christmas, and to varying degrees at other holidays/celestial moments, unscheduled disasters, or even a strongly-enough-felt personal event (or, perhaps, in some locations--I'd say you're a lot more likely to see him at the Myers House). I.e. he'd be as inscrutable and dangerous as ever, but harder to catch, and sometimes he'd show up when it wasn't Halloween.


End file.
